Aude Amare
by Aemilia
Summary: [Companions of the Night by Vivian Vande Velde] Years after their first encounter, Kerry and Michel meet again and must ask themselves at what point coincidence becomes fate.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I disclaim this. All hail Vivian Vande Velde, owner and creator of _Companions of the Night _and the characters featured in this fic._

Kerry examined her reflection feeling pleased. She looked good, if she did say so herself. Her light brown hair was swept back into an elegant chignon, gentle tendrils wisping around her face. She fingered the pearls at her throat, wondering if they were a tad too June Cleaver. But no, she decided, they were perfect for the little black dress. The whole ensemble spoke of power and sophistication, just what the vice president of an up-and-coming publishing house needed to be. Of course, she felt neither powerful nor sophisticated, but she'd managed to fool them thus far; hopefully she would continue to do so. She smiled one last time at the mirror- were those wrinkles starting at the corners of her eyes? After years of tireless moisturizing and the meticulous application of sunscreen? She frowned, but that just made matters worse. She was thirty-five, wrinkles were inevitable, she supposed.

With a sigh, she turned and exited her hotel room. The annual end of year banquet was being held in the- she double-checked her invitation- West Ballroom. At the doorshe braced herself and prepared to mingle. Stepping into the grand room, she had to agree that the exorbitant fee they were paying the party planner was worth it. Towering centerpieces of blue, purple and white lilies, asters and roses dominated the tables swathed in matching table clothes, there was a champagne fountain, and a live band set up in one corner. They were actually pretty good, she was surprised to note. They played jazzy stuff that could actually be danced to, if she could dance in the first place. The scenery was upstaged, though, by the beautiful people that the Californian art scene seemed to be wholly populated with. Her company was considering opening an office on the west coast, which was the primary purpose for her trip here. Statuesque trophy wives stood preening by rich husbands twice their age in dresses as expensive as they were garish. For a moment Kerry wished she'd worn something other than the black New Yorkers were so notorious for, but then, who did she think she was kidding?

She was distracted by her fashion woes by a loud cry of "Well, damn, if it isn't Kerry Garrett." She jumped hearing hermarried name; she'd thought about keeping her maiden names, but Todd thought it would just cause too much confusion. She gritted her teeth in what might have passed as a smile. "Hi, Greg."

Greg Chamberlain, a shortish, stoutish man with receding and unnaturally shiny black hair, ambushed her in a hug that was borderline work-inappropriate. She disentangled herself from his grubby embrace while trying not to choke on his overpowering cologne. She managed the former, if not the latter. Greg had the dubious honor of being one of the most annoying men she'd ever had the misfortune to meet. He was also the most profitable marketer.

"Kerry, Kerry, Kerry. How you doin' babe?" hepractically oozed. Luckily, Greg didn't actually expect conversation from women and kept going. "I have been just fan-fucking-tabulous. Business- whew!" He threw his hands up in an explosive gesture. Kerry flinched involuntarily. "It's through the fucking roof! You okay, doll? You seem jumpy. But of course, you already know all about the business…and who's responsible for our good fortune, eh, eh, eh. But that's not the only place I've been profiting. I got married!" He waved a plump hand in her face, displaying an expensive and tacky ring. Kerry murmured congratulations and wondered what woman would sentence herself to a life with Greg. "Yep, got hitched, the ol' ball and chain. My wife's here somewhere. Honey!" he bellowed. "Oh, there she is. Honey! Come over here, I got someone for you to meet." A woman with impossible tall shoes and impossibly tall turned from where she'd been conversing with a dark-haired young man. Kerry let herself be steered over to the pair, gratefully grabbing a frothy pink cocktail from the tray of a passing waiter. She knew she would need many more before she escaped from Greg and his bimbo wife.

"Kerry, this is Theresa, my wife." Theresa may have said something, but Kerry was too busy staring at the young man next too her. She felt simultaneously hot and cold and struggled to draw breath. Greg, thick as he was, managed to pick up on her discomfiture. "This is Owen Black, the new marketing intern."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Garrett," Michel said brightly, taking Kerry's shaking hand in his own.

Heart in her throat, Kerry managed a shaky pleasantry in return, vaguely aware that Greg and his wife were looking at her strangely. She had to pull herself together. He might not even recognize her. It had been nearly two decades since he last saw her. She'd changed since then, and she was pretty sure he'd had more impact in her life than she had in his. But as she steeled herself to look him in the eye, she knew he knew. Probably remembered every detail far better than she.

Greg's wife was saying something about dinner about to be served and prodded them all toward one of the tables. Kerry felt a wash of gratitude toward the woman, and reassessed her previous conclusions. Clearly, Greg had chosen a woman with a heart as big as her hair.

Dinner seemed to take hours, every minute acutely felt. And Kerry spent every moment trying to not look at the vampire seated next to her. She could only manage a few bites of whatever was served; it all tasted like ash on her tongue.

"Christ, Kerry, you look like you're going to be sick," Greg said, giving her something to focus on.

"I…I don't feel well. I think I got too much sun today." She managed a weak smile. "If you'll excuse me." She made it to her feet, not waiting for a reply, and made it out of the ballroom. She walked and didn't stop until she was out of the hotel. There was a pool with adeck behind the hotel for those whom were unwilling to walk the few hundred yards to the ocean. Lounge chairs were arranged for those tired of swimming, a darkened snack bar was at the far end. It was empty now; the moonlight gave everything a sense of serenity, which she could desperately use right now. She sank down onto one of the deck chairs, letting the sound of the ocean wash over her. She closed her eyes, and felt the pressure that had been weighing her down ease a bit.

She been imagining this day since she was sixteen. For years, she'd expected to run into him around every corner. Had hoped she would. Had feared she would. It hadn't been easy, but she'd made it through the trial. Had managed to put her life back together. She'd been to a dozen therapists; they helped some though she could never tell them the truth. She'd almost cometo believe her own story about the kidnapping. As she'd gotten older, she'd pushed him from her mind, had gone months without thinking of him, and even then in the most idle and passing way. Except for the dreams.

"Kerry." She didn't have to open her eyes to know who it was. After a moment in which she neither moved nor spoke, she heard the scrape of chair feet on cement indicating he'd taken the seat next to her. She tried to slow her breathing and heart rate, knowing he was aware of every beat.

"…Michel?" she asked tentatively, half-expecting to open her eyes and find herself talking to the night breeze.

"Yes?" His voice was soft

"Did you know I would be here?" It had been weighing on her mind since she'd gotten over her initial surprise.

He gave her that unreadable vampire look she knew all too well, deciding what answer would please her. "No," he said finally. Kerry was both relieved and disappointed. "I looked at the guest list but didn't know your married name." He shrugged as if to apologize.

"We're separated," she said unsure why she volunteered information she still hadn't told her family, but was careful to keep her expression neutral. She was determined to use the hard won restraint she'd lacked at sixteen.

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It happens. People change." At least, some people did. "So," she started searching for a topic of conversation, and finding it very hard to think with him standing there regarding her with beautiful blue eyes. "You have an internship with Sterling and Sauls? You must have been a promising applicant."

"Owen Black was, yes."

"And what happened to Owen? Won't he be disappointed he's missing this party?" she asked against her will.

"He doesn't even know that he applied." She nodded, feeling relieved. Maybe it was a lie, but she found she didn't even care. It was a lie she could live with. She had learned the importance of those lies the past few years. They'd been all that held her marriage together. You miss them when the truth is revealed.

"So, you're getting into the publishing business?"

"No." Michel didn't elaborate further and Kerry didn't feel like pressing. "Do you have any children?"

"What? No." She was surprised at his line of questioning. "I always wanted to, but Todd…" Todd never thought it was the right time. "Things didn't work out." She stood and walked out to the rail of the deck, looking down on the sandy beach and watching the play of moonlight on the waves. Michel followed, setting his elbow on the rail next to her and leaning out. But he wasn't watching the waves. "I'd ask what you've been up to, but I'm sure it's top-secret vampire affairs."

"Something like that." She snuck a look at him. He was just like she remembered, and yet different somehow too. But the difference was in herself, she realized. His features seemed younger now, looking at him through older eyes. He was just as beautiful, but she saw the ferocity and danger where she had missed it as an innocent girl. The sense of age and knowledge hung around him like cologne.

"Do you ever regret it?" she asked, afraid of the answer but tired of wondering.

He raked a hand through his dark hair, considering. Either he was wearing it longer or hadn't had a chance to cut it. "Do you?" His cool gaze met hers.

"Not fair, I asked first," she protested. She waited as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one. She made a face and he put them away without lighting himself one, but rolled his eyes.

"Sometimes, I do." For once he was the one to look away first. "Your turn."

"Sometimes for me too. I mean, I guess it's understandable. Grass is always is greener, right? Of course that grass is going to look that much greener when this side of the fence is a rocky marriage to a husband who you're pretty sure isn't really in love with you and possibly never was, and a 80 hours a week at a job that you're not too sure you're even good at. But then, I'm sure vampirism has some downsides they don't put in the brochure. Like…" She struggled to think of some downsides. "Vampire hunters and never being able to work on your tan." God, she was rambling. "So yeah. Sometimes."

He looked her for a long moment, his eyes seemed silver in the moonlight, then reached out and ever so lightly traced her collarbone and down her throat. She shivered and meant to push him away, but found she was clinging to him instead. He was so strong; she could feel the iron beneath the tenderness of his touch. It was so easy to let him support her; she wasn't sure if she could rely on her trembling legs anyway. His lips pressed against hers, soft cool, something to focus on in the frenzy of her mind. She knew what he was going to do, but couldn't stop him. Didn't want to. A tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her that he was dangerous. He could kill her, but even that thought didn't bother her. Just so long as he held her first…

She felt more than heard him whisper against her throat. "Just a taste…" She cried out when his fangs pierced her skin; the pain was sharp but also sweet. It was quickly over, leaving her floating in warmth. She could feel him, totally and completely, his thoughts, feelings, emotions. It was a joining that made the mere physical joining of sex pale in comparison. This was better than sex, this was what sex should be but never was. And for the first time in nearly twenty years, Kerry felt truly at peace.


	2. Chapter 2

Kerry slowly rose to consciousness, none to happy about it. "Nnngh," she groaned. Where was she, and why was she in her bra and panties? She opened her eyes to the bland wallpaper and uninspired watercolor reproductions that hotels invariably seemed to have. Oh, the banquet. The digital clock by her bed read 1:45 p.m. God that was late even for her. Was she hung-over? She remembered the pink frothy cocktail, but she hadn't had more than that, she didn't think… She abruptly sat straight up and, moving faster than she ever did upon rising, made her way to the mirror above the dresser. Probing her neck gently she found a bruise that could have been mistaken for a hickey, except for the faintly raised bite marks at its center. It hadn't been a dream. Michel. She remembered seeing him, the bite, but there things went fuzzy. She had no memory of making it back to her room. Feeling a flash of horror, she wondered just how he had gotten her up here. If any of her co-workerssaw her being carried around by a strange young man… Her dress from last night was hung up in the closet with her shoes lined up neatly beneath. She very much doubted she was responsible for that and debated whether she was grateful to Michel for taking care of her, or annoyed that he took such liberties. She settled on annoyed- it was a safer emotion, and besides, it _was _his fault she'd needed help in the first place. She suddenly felt giddy with emotion. Or maybe that was the blood loss.

She got a glass of water, which more or less took care of the dry mouth, and considered her options. She should flee; she knew, grab her things and get on the next flight home. If she delayed, let herself enjoy just a few moments of his company…it might be too late already.

A knock on the door startled her. But it couldn't be Michel, she realized, not in the middle of the afternoon. "Room service!" She scrambled to get into jeans and a t-shirt.

"I didn't order…"she started to protest, opening the door to the overly-chipper employee and a cart of covered plates.

The girl looked untroubled. "The kitchen got the order early this morning. And-" she adopted a conspiratorial tone, as if she disliked sullying herself with such matters, "The bill has already been settled." Taken off-guard, Kerry let the girl buffalo her cart into the room. She quickly turned, leaving with a "Enjoy, Ma'am."

Now that she could smell food, Kerry found she was ravenously hungry. The cart held far more food than she could possibly hope to consume- omelet, baked potato, sandwiches, pasta, steak and chicken. Apparently Michel had ordered just about everything on the menu. Not sure if she was up to anything more the way her stomach was feeling, she started in on the potato, noticing as she did an envelope propped against one of the dishes. She picked it up and read in elegant cursive script two words: "_Dinner tonight?" _

If it was almost two now; she struggled to remember when exactly the sun would set. She'd been hyperaware of it after her ordeal, but had long since stopped paying attention to the minute. She guessed after 8:00. That gave her six hours to kill. She had a business meeting tomorrow, but nothing was scheduled for today. Employees had been encouraged to explore Los Angeles, with an eye towards relocation. She was supposed to fly out the day after tomorrow and wondered if she'd be on that plane. No, she _would_. She had to be.

She made it through the potato and, feeling sufficiently recovered, the steak, pasta and half a sandwich. The sandwich may have been too much; she started feeling a bit queasy again. A very long, very hot shower took care of the rest of her physical ailments though and cleared her head. As she caught a glance at herself in the steamed bathroom mirror, she noticed her bite mark had faded even more. Now there was only the slightest trace from last night.

She rummaged around in her suitcase, glad that she always brought lounging clothes. Suits were so depressing. Sweatpants and a faded Harvard t-shirt, however, were good for the soul. Regretfully she surveyed the rest of her clothes; she had no idea what she should wear for dinner. Michel always managed to look cool and put together; Kerry was lucky if she managed to look like she had all the basics of hygiene down. She realized she was obsessing. She tended to do that when stressed. For all she knew, by 'dinner' Michel meant Chinese take-out. But somehow she doubted it.

Her cell rang, startling her; it was Todd.

"When are you going to be back?" he said without so much as a hello.

"The day after tomorrow," she reminded him. She'd already told him twice, but there was no need to antagonize him now.

"Whatnot taking longer on your vacation?" She could practically see his look of annoyance.

"It's not a vacation, Todd, it's just business. Nothing but boring meetings and a couple tedious seminars. Trust me; I'd rather be home right now." Well, that had been true up until last night.

"Meeting any cute young business men?" It could have been taken as a joke, except for the slight edge that only she could hear.

"No, Todd, of course not." She did her best to allay his suspicions; it would go much better for her when she got home if she did. "Anything wild and exciting going on there?" she said, an obvious change of subject.

"No. That damn fool friend of yours dropped off one of her paintings."

"Annie?" Annie was an artist friend of Kerry's. Her work was usually pretty avant-garde. Kerry didn't always get it, but it was always interesting. Todd however, hated it and felt Annie should get a real job.

"Yeah, it looks like a cat vomited on it." With Annie, that was a distinct possibility.

"Just put it in the closet, I'll find something to do with it when I get home."

"You better. Alright, I've got to go."

"Bye." She started to say 'I love you' but he'd already hung up. She shut her phone with a snap and tossed it on the bed, as if it were responsible for the conversations it made possible.

The rest of the afternoon was spent restlessly watching TV and getting ready. Whenever she was nervous or anticipating something, she had the tendency to spend an excessive amount of time getting ready. It was like pacing, but slightly more productive. She tried on four or five different outfits, or at least the same cloths in different combinations; finally deciding on a charcoal gray pencil skirt, kitten heels and a scarlet blouse that showed off her collarbone to great effect. Perhaps it would be better to draw less attention to that general area but her other tops were just too dowdy. Curse her practical wardrobe!

Time decided that is was in no particular hurry and the later it got, the slower it went. By the time Michel actually showed up, she was about ready to scream. He looked as suave as ever in a black blazer, white dress shirt and slacks.

He smiled brightly. "Kerryyou look lovely."

"You too. Er, not lovely. Handsome," she stammered, wishing desperately that she could string simple sentences together without looking like a compete idiot.

His smile widened. "Are you ready to go?" He offered her his arm. He might be a ruthless killer, but he was also a gentleman. She nodded, grabbed her purse and after a moment's hesitation took his arm. Maybe it made her a bad feminist, but she also enjoyed it.

She saw Greg Chamberlain in the lobby of the hotel. His eyes widened visibly, but luckily he was out of earshot. "I'm sorry if I was any trouble last night," she said, a blush creeping into her cheeks despite her best efforts.

"Trouble? Not at all. I'm the one who should apologize. You are feeling alright? No dizziness?"

They were in the hotel's cavernous parking garage. "I felt a little nauseated earlier, but lunch helped. Thanks for that."

"Least I could do."

"Well, it was your fault." She paused. "I'm not sure I forgive you, but at least you're sorry."

"Only for where and how," he said, a tad smugly. "Do I get points for honesty?" Michel led her to a black Mercedes, and opened the door for her.

She pretended to consider it. "Yes, but only because I'm feeling inordinately generous."

He started the engine, skillfully maneuvering the car around an SUV whose owner decided that the parking lines were merely suggestions. They rode in silence. Kerry partly didn't want to distract him from traffic, which was not unlike bumper cars at the fair, and partly because she wasn't sure what to say. All her normal conversation starters were made ridiculous by the situation. It seemed inane to ask a centuries old vampire if he'd seen any good movies lately.

"So where are we going?" she asked when they came to a convenient stoplight. They were in one of the upscale shopping districts. Yuppies strolled down the street, shopping bags in hand, enjoying the relief evening brought from the oppressive heat of the day.

"I was thinking Italian, but I'm open to suggestions. I don't really care what I don't eat."

"Italian's fine." She fidgeted with her hair; maybe she should have put it up again. Realizing fidgeting was probably giving away her nervousness, she made an effort to hold still. Then she remembered that he could hear her heart beat. That made seeming calm and collected impossible. Dealing with vampires was always a challenge.

When he reached up to adjust the rearview mirror, she jumped. She tried to cover it but the considering look he was giving her suggested he didn't buy it. Her heart sped up a little bit more, the traitor.

"I'm not-" He didn't finish that thought, distracted by a near collision with a minivan who wanted to be in _this _lane right now. "Are you horrified?" he started again when death wasn't imminent. He tone was merely inquisitory, but the way he was looking at her out of the corner of his eye suggested he was worried about her answer.

"That you _fed_ on me? That you're a-" she hesitated. "-Blood-sucking creature of the night? Yes. And no." She twisted her wedding ring around her finger, a nervous tick she'd developed. "I'm here aren't I? And of my own free will this time." Her brow furrowed. "Right?"

"Oh, yes. I make mistakes but rarely the same one twice," he said wryly.

Kerry wished she could say the same. "I'm not…this is..." Words had never been her friend and they were failing her now. She realized she was shaking. Suddenly she recalled vividly Marsala's body, Regina's blackened corpse. The air she was struggling to breatheseemed like a wool blanket, stifling her. She was having an episode, a distant, detached part of her realized; she hadn't had an episode in years. She hated to think what he thought of her. She wasn't usually such a mess; he sort of brought it out in her.Finally, her sobs waned into sniffles.

"Oh God," she said looking at herself in the mirror on the back of the visor. "I look like the raccoon from hell." Mascara and the two or three shades of eyeshadow she'd so artfully blended were running down her face. "I thought we were getting Italian." They'd passed into a more residential district.

"We can if you want, but my house is over this way. I thought you might want to ah-"

"Scrape the makeup off my face?" she said, saving him from attempting tact. "Yeah, I better. I look like a cry for help."

"Nonsense." But she knew he was just being kind. Michel's house was an excessively posh townhouse, of course. Kerry knew very little about architecture or design, but she thought the inside had a vaguely Art Deco feel too it- minimal knickknacks, blackwhite and red pallet, creative but vaguely uncomfortable-looking furniture. She wondered if it had come furnished or if Michel himself decorated the place. Somehow she couldn't see him spending a lot of time in Home Depot. He indicated the bathroom, where she found that the damage to her make-up was even worse than previously thought. She took as much of it off as possible without the aid of remover. Why was waterproof mascara invariably easily smeared but impossible to remove? In the end her face was left slightly damp and a touch blotchy, with enough left-over shadow and liner to give her a vaguely Goth look. And she couldn't even rely on sketchy; no matter how dim it was Michel could see in the dark.She bit her lip, assuring herself she didn't care what he thought. Besides she still looked better than an immature girl with a slight acne problem.

He was waiting in the living room, drinks in hand. She accepted one gratefully, wondering as she did so if he got tired of being carded. Despite his tender looks his demeanor and authority seemed to make him older than he was. She knew he could act young if he wished, but realized more and more just how much of an act it had been. She wondered for the umpteenth time just how old he was, but couldn't quite nerve herself up to asking. Instead, she downed her wine in nearly one draught.

He was watching her, his own drink almost to his lips. Great, now he could add 'lush' to 'neurotic' and 'pathetic'. "We could order a pizza, if you'd rather."

An out. She could kiss him, even if she hadn't wanted to already. The idea of not going out in public when she was liable to break down at any moment appealed. "Not a bad idea," she said relieved. "And- pizza is Italian."

Michel made a face. "Hardly."

She poked him in the ribs. "You're such a snob." It was only after her gave her a bemused look that she realized she'd forgotten, for a moment, he was a vampire.

Eating pizza with him watching made her feel a little strange, like she was being rude. Still, crying made her hungry and after the first piece she forgot her manners. They watched TV. Proving he truly wasn't human, he let her have the remote control.

After the conclusion of _True Lies_, she turned the TV off. Too much Arnold made her head hurt. "What did you do after you left? I mean in general," she asked, a combination of the wine and fatigue.

"I stayed in town awhile. To keep an eye on the investigation." To make sure she didn't tell the authorities all about vampires. "And to make sure none of the others were going to poke around to find out about you."

"Other…vampires." He nodded. "Why?"

"When I let you go, I broke the rules." He leaned back, settling into the deep cushions of the sofa, staring off at nothing in particular, momentarily lost to the past. He had a lot of past to get lost in.

"Vampires have rules?" she prodded.

"Well, let's call them strong suggestions," he smiled wryly. "The kind of suggestions that you wake up dead for not following. Really dead."

"You're still alive." She realized 'survive' probably would have been more accurate, but this really wasn't the time for technicalities.

"Because no one ever found out." He said it as uninflected fact.

"You took a real gamble." She matched his tone.

"Yes." He glanced at her, then quickly back out at the ocean, but she'd already read the emotion he failed to mask. "Remember our last parting?"

"Vividly."

"You turned down an offer I wonder now if you'd accept." He laced his fingers together behind his neck, carefully not looking at her.

Even knowing it was coming didn't ease the question. For a long moment she sat urging her heart to leave her throat and return to her chest. Finally she said "I can't just walk away, Ethan. Michel. Dammit," she swore at her slip. "I can't even get your name right!" She took a deep breath and continued. "I have a job. I have a husband." The word was bitter in her mouth.

"You can walk away if you want- from him or me." His tone was colder.

"I can't," she insisted with forced conviction. "I took an oath-"

"'Til death do you part?" he said, an eyebrow raised.

"- and I can't be a, a…."

"...vampire…" he supplied.

"Killer," she finished instead. "Michel, I can't kill people. Besides, I don't like being the older woman."

Michel laughed. "Kerry, you're not, not by a long shot." She made a face. "Your age worries you?" He caught her hand and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it. "When I met you, you were very young."

"And now I'm very not." He turned her hand over and left a more lingering kiss on her palm. She shivered.

"Women and wine improve with age, Kerry."

"I think I've rather reached my expiration date."

He grinned, leaning in. "Hardly." She intercepted the imminent kiss with her hand, so he kissed her palm again instead of the intended lips.

"I'm not a scared girl with Stockholm Syndrome, Michel. I'm not going to be taken in with sweet words. I know what an accomplished liar you are. What an accomplished liar you've made me." He looked hurt. Good, anything to keep him away. "Why are you playing this game with me?" It came out more plaintive than she'd intended.

"I'm not playing with you, Kerry. I-"

"I love you, Michel. I always have and God knows, I probably always will. But I don't trust you." Her voice cracked and she felt her calm façade crumble. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks, angry at herself. She was supposed to be an adult now. She watched in surprise as Michel started rolling back the cuff of his shirt, baring his pale wrist. With dawning horror, she realized what he was aboutto doand seized his forearm with both her hands. Her fingers dug into his skin, but she knew he could shake her off easily. He stopped though and looked at her helplessly, bringing his hand up to caress her face with his free hand.

"I don't have anything to offer but my blood. If you won't take that…" She recoiled, knowing his touch was far more persuasive than his words. It was precisely the wrong reaction for he stood stiffly and stalked into what she thought was a bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

She didn't even know she'd fallen asleep until she woke. It was 2:42, the house completely dark and Michel was gone. She pulled herself together, relieved she hadn't drooled on the couch, and stoodas she heard the bolt being turned on the door.

"Michel, look I'm sorry, but if you're centuries old don't you think you should start acting like-" she started then came up short. The tall figure entering the house wasn't Michel. Cold dark eyes regarded her from a lean face.

"You know _Michel_?" The voice was surprisingly mellow, but the edge place on Michel's name was unmistakable; she remembered that it was his real name not one of the many aliases all other humans called him by. He shut the door behind him, throwing the bolt back into place. He put his hands on his hips; the gesture was seemingly relaxed but it made sure she couldn't miss the gun at his belt. "Well, now, isn't _that_ interesting."


	3. Chapter 3

Kerry scrambled to her feet, a thrill of panic racing through her. "I, ah…Who are you?" She tried to surreptitiously retreat as he closed the space between them, but the couch blocked her escape.

"No, the important question right now is: who are _you_? I didn't know Michel had a guest." The way he emphasized 'guest' made it a mockery. "No, please, don't go." Kerry froze. "Stay, and let's get better acquainted." He had a tall and rangy build and big hands with thick knuckles; hands that looked like they do some serious damage. His hair was an indeterminate shade between blonde and brown and was cut very short, giving him a vaguely militaristic look. An impression furthered by heavy boots and a long black trench coat.

"Really, I should go- oh, look at the time, it's later than I…" she trailed off; the vampire- and there was no doubt in her mind that he was a vampire- was looking at her in a way that stopped her words and chilled her blood.

"Do you know what I am?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

There wasn't a good way to answer that question. "Er, a very nice man?" He took a sudden step toward her; she automatically flinched back, and then realized she'd given herself away.

"You do know what I am, what Michel is." Though he didn't make another immediate move toward her, she knew she was walking on the edge of a knife. Violence hung about him like stench on rotting meat. She didn't answer; it wasn't a question and there wasn't much point in trying to protest. Instead, she sank back down on the couch, trying to take up as little room as possible. He turned and strode away from her, walking the length of the room impatiently. She took this opportunity to examine her nails. She'd quit biting them in high school, but she was feeling the very strong urge to pick the habit back up.

"Hey, it's me." She looked up, startled, and then saw that he had a cell phone out. She couldn't hear what the other person was saying from where she was sitting. "Yeah, I'm there now." He looked over his should at her, faint disgust on his features. "He's not here, but there might be a slight problem." That had to be her; she wasn't sure if she should be offended or relieved that she was rated a 'slight problem.' "No, I'm taking care of it." There was a long pause while he listened. "Okay. See you then." He hung up, slipping the phone back in the pocket of his trench coat. "You still haven't told me your name."

"I'm Jessie Grantham." Jessie was her college roommate and the first name that came to mind after her own.

He nodded somewhat absently, focusing instead on the purse she'd left lying on the coffee table. Before she had a chance to object, he'd picked it up, quickly finding her wallet. He examined her driver's license carefully, before putting it back in her wallet and setting her purse down. "You're not a very good liar."

She swallowed hard. "I know. Just thought I'd give it a try."

"Bad idea." She nodded mutely, but he'd turned, getting out his cell phone again and rapidly dialing a number. This time, however, eavesdropping told her nothing. He spoke in hurried German and Kerry's German was limited to _guten tag_ and _schadenfreude_. All she caught was her and Michel's name…and her own. This conversation lasted longer; the vampire slowly paced around the room, ignoring Kerry completely. She considered her options: wait to be killed or try to run and die faster. For the umpteenth time she wondered how she managed to get in messes like this. The back door was through the kitchen and she was willing to bet that it was locked as well; the front door was nearer and the deadbolt didn't require a key from this side. The only difficulty would be getting past the vampire. Well, no problem there.

She needed a weapon. Unfortunately, there were no decorative swords hanging over the mantle, and she very much doubted her ability to break off a chair leg for a club. Maybe she could break a lamp over his head. An abstract glass sculpture sat on the end table next to the couch; she hoped that it was as heavy as it was ugly. Inching a hand out, she let it oh-so-casually come to rest next to the sculpture. But either he was cleverer than she'd estimated or she was more obvious than she'd meant to be, because without even a pause in his conversation, the vampire absently moved the sculpture from the end table to coffee table when she'd have to make more of an effort to get to it. Arms crossed, she slumped back into the couch defeated.

The vampire snapped his phone shut and set his hands on his hips, looking at her with a mixture of annoyance and anger. "I don't suppose I need to tell you that I can inflict rather a lot of pain on your person. You really don't want to make this more difficult for-" The vampire paused, head cocked to the side, listening. Kerry listened hard but heard nothing, starting when a second later the door swung open and Michel entered looking as breathless as a vampire could. She jumped to her feet. Nobody moved, each considering this new development.

Finally the strange vampire said, "Well? I'm sure you have an excellent explanation."

"Richard." Michel's face was neutral, but Kerry could tell by the slight tightening of his jaw that he didn't like Richard. He deliberately shut the door behind him. "I don't owe you an explanation. In fact, I think it's rather the other way 'round. What are you doing in my house? I don't recall issuing an invitation."

Richard crossed his arms over his chest, looking slightly belligerent. "I was waiting for you. To see how it'd gone. I do assume you haven't forgotten _all_ your obligations." Michel inclined his head once to acknowledge that 'it' had gone well. "And here I find a human with privileged information. I trust that you were going to take care of this?" Kerry kept trying to catch Michel's eye but he steadfastly refused to look at her. It was like she wasn't even there.

"I know what is required."

Richard sneered. "I don't know that you're prepared to do what is necessary. Perhaps I should-"

"You should leave well enough alone," Michel hissed. "I am not some moron fledge, Richard. I know what I am doing."

"Will they-" For the first time Richard glanced at Kerry, then amended what he'd be saying to, "Will it be seen that way?"

"Not for you to say."

"There are only two choices here, Michel," Richard sounded annoyed. "You've compromised us. The girl needs to be taken care of one way or another. If you're not going to turn her than end it. Anyway, quit fucking around."

For a moment the two vampires glared at each other, the tension so thick that Kerry was sure they would attack. Finally though, Michel looked away. Now he turned to her. "You're not going to leave this room alive, one way or another. But you do have a choice." Michel tone was soft but dangerous. "Do you understand, Kerry?" Die or become a vampire, she heard it as clearly as if he'd said it aloud.

She nodded, and when she trusted her voice answered. "Yes." She thought about the decision she'd made all those years ago, and had wondered if she'd made the right choice hundreds of times. It had taken her years to realize just what she'd given up. And even more years to realize what she'd gained. Could she make the same decision again? Death was much realer now than it had been at sixteen. To be immortal, to quit fighting the losing battle against age was unbelievably seductive. And then there was Michel. She hadn't been lying when she'd so clumsily confessed her love.

But could she kill; sacrifice others for her own immortality? Leave her family and friends?

"No. I could never be a vampire." Michel took a step towards her.

"Think, Kerry. This is not an idle threat." She didn't need the warning- Michel wasn't an idle threat kind of guy.

She thought about it. She didn't want to die, had never been the melancholy type with a romantic view of death. But being killing by Michel wasn't such a bad way to go, really. Better than most ways she could think of- cancer, car accidents, or being mown over by a dump-truck, which she'd always secretly feared would be her fate.

"Yeah, I know." An odd calm stole over her, making her feel numb and distant.

Michel stood before her, dark hair falling in his pale eyes, looking more like a model in a perfume ad than a predator. For a long moment they stood, each regarding the other. It must have been longer than it felt for suddenly Richard stepped forward.

"I can…" he started, seemingly reluctant to interrupt- more for Michel's sake than hers, Kerry thought wryly.

"No." Michel's voice rose for the first time. "No. She's my responsibility." Another step and they were inches apart. "I'm sorry, Kerry. I do wish it could have been different. I never meant you harm." She couldn't think of a reply that wasn't insincere or ridiculous, so she nodded once instead. It was a relief to be back in his arms, and she felt shame that she was going to lay down and die. But the most she could muster was resignation and a wistful desire to have spent more time doing what she'd wanted and less time behaving.

She leaned into him, welcoming the touch of his hand on the small of her back, the touch of his lips on her neck. She waited for the momentary sharpness. It didn't come. She hoped he hadn't decided to resort to one of the more mundane methods of execution.

Suddenly he shoved her hard; taken completely by surprise she staggered back, stumbled over the coffee table and landed on the sofa with a loud 'omff.' With speed that Kerry could hardly follow, Michel drew a gun she hadn't known he was carrying and fired. Kerry flinched, but he wasn't aiming at her. Richard had started to move as soon as Michel'd pushed her and was almost upon him. The shots caught him in the chest, each a small explosion of blood; he staggered, momentum carried him forward two more steps and he collapsed facedown. Calmly Michel looked down at Richard's bleeding form, aimed, and fired, hitting Richard in the back of the head. There was more blood than in the movies, but the worst was the scent of blood and raw meat. Kerry held her breath, which was the only thing preventing her from screaming. With measured movements Michel clicked the safety on and placed the gun back in its holster.

He turned to her, glancing over her as if to check that she were all in one piece. "What happened while I was gone? Did anyone else come over?"

She kept her eyes on his face, desperately trying to avoid looking at the dead vampire. She managed to shake her head 'no'. "But he made a phone call." She swallowed hard, her throat felt like sandpaper. "It was short, um, he said that you'd created a problem, but that he was going to look into it."

He nodded, unsurprised. "Did he mention you?"

"Not then, but he made another call, and he'd gone through my purse. That one I didn't understand; it was in German," she explained. "I'm pretty sure I caught both our names though." Michel rolled the body over, going through the pockets until he produced Richard's cell phone. He looked up the history and studied the numbers without indicating whether or not he recognized them. He looked up, from his expression Kerry knew she wouldn't like whatever he was about to say.

"Alright." He offered her a hand up, she took it, unsure if her trembling legs would hold her. "Under the sink in the kitchen you'll find a bucket, hydrogen peroxide, gloves and some rags. Mix up a solution two parts cold war to one part peroxide and bring it here, would you?"

She nodded glad to have a reason to leave the room and the body. At the door she stopped, "Michel." He was surveying the body with the same expression she normally reserved for a sinkful of dirty dishes.

"Yes?"

"Why?"

He looked at her and gave a slight shrug. "Why not? Now, please hurry. I don't want these stains to set. Any major stains and I won't get my deposit back."

It took her a while to get the mixture prepared. The first time she tried it, she was immediately and violently sick and had to dump it out. She was sick another two time before she finished. The last time was just dry heaves, her stomach completely emptied of pizza. When she finally returned, Michel had the body in a makeshift body-bag of industrial garbage bags and duct tape. She set to work cleaning up the blood pooled and already drying, momentarily glad that Michel had austere parquet and not carpet. It took another two buckets for the floor and one for the furniture and walls where they'd been splattered. Michel showed her the best way to remove the blood from the upholstery. She didn't want to think about how much practice he'd had. By they time they were done her knees ached and her fingers were pruned. The room would never pass a forensic examination but if she hadn't known, she'd have never guessed that a gristly murder had just taken place.

They took turns showering to wash the blood off. There was no saving her clothing; Michel gave her a dark blue dress shirt (did he wear anything else?) and a pair of jeans. She could get them over her hips, but only just, and she had to roll the cuffs, but anything was better than her blood-soaked skirt. None of his shoes would come close to fitting her and she was afraid he'd make her go barefoot, but after he thoroughly washed them he let her have them. Damp shoes were better than no shoes.

"Don't worry. We'll get you some more things soon."

"We're not getting my stuff?" she asked tiredly, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. The bedroom was dark, illuminated by the light from the bathroom fixture.

"Nope," he said, busy packing a duffel bag with clothes, a few toiletries and tools.

"What exactly are we doing?"

"Disappearing." She shuddered as he sighted down a gun- a different one from the one he'd used earlier, that one had gone in another trash bag with the bloody clothes.

"I can't disappear, Michel. My husband will think I've run off with another man."

"You are." He said sparing a smirking glance in her direction. "Besides, you don't really have a choice- you can disappear or you can be made to disappear." He handed her the duffel. "Here, take this out to the car, please."

They got the body into the car with relative ease, well, he did while she stood watch, a job which mostly entailed avoiding looking at the bulky garbage bag and not thinking about what it contained. Michel locked the door to his flat, left a message for his land lady saying a family emergency had come up and he'd be out of town for a couple of months and oh, could she water his plants?

He drove to the poor part of town, the part where cabs didn't stop and gunfire was common place. He pulled the car behind an old meat packing plant; accumulated garbage was piled high against its back wall. Even in the car, the scent was overwhelming. Kerry didn't object when he told her to wait in the car. In short order, he'd buried the body deep in the refuse.

"What will they think when they find him?" she asked when he'd gotten back in the car. He'd still managed to keep his shirt clean.

"That won't be for months, if not longer. At that point I don't care."

"But won't he be all…crispy?" Kerry said, wondering what they would make of a body that blackened and burnt in the sun.

"Oh," he said. "No. The body is now just that, he'll decay naturally. He'll be just another gun statistic and I know they don't have his dental records."

Their next stop was a seedy garage, unmarked except for the graffiti. She stood by silently as Michel traded in his sports car and a generous wad of cash for a navy Toyota Camry. Michel transferred the duffel and trash bag of clothing and they were off again. Kerry looked at her watch; they were less than an hour away from sunrise. But surely Michel knew that. They made it to a slightly less lethal part of town, before he pulled into a 7-11. He filled the tank, then ran in to pay, returning with a US road map and a ginormous cup of coffee, one that would mean about eight trips to the bathroom were it to be consumed.

"For you," he explained, handing her coffee, she accepted skeptically. "They're coming for us, Kerry. Our one advantage is the sunlight. If you start driving now you can beat rush hour traffic out of Los Angeles. Then take the interstate northeast. The exact route you use doesn't matter so much as long as you don't stay any one place more than a few hours and avoid talking to people. Stop and nap if you have to. There's a couple thousand in the glove compartment if you need anything.

"Where are you going to be?" Her voice was sharp with panic at the thought of fleeing by herself.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes, a gesture she was coming to recognize as habit. "In the trunk."

She blinked, trying to process that and finally sighed. "Wouldn't it be easier to fly?" The sky was becoming dangerously pink

"Commercial airlines aren't exactly accommodating for people with my condition." Oh, right. Duh. "And chartered planes, though more flexible, are easier to track, if you have access to the flight records. Besides, we don't have a particular destination. The point right now is to keep moving. Okay?" But he didn't give her much of a chance to answer, popping the trunk. He tossed her the keys. "Just keep going." He flashed a reassuring smile. "And please- remember to let me out after sunset, not before. These older models don't have releases on the inside." With that he was in the trunk, the door closing quickly behind him, leaving Kerry there staring as if he were going to spring back out like a jack-in-the-box. Then, before she could have a chance to reconsider, she got in the car and pulled onto the road.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: Not too happy with this chapter. It got too dialogue-y and there's no action. I find Michel an extremely hard character to write, so there may be some OCCishness on his part, as well. Hopefully the next chapter will be better. >.>

* * *

It didn't take long for the adrenaline to wear off and exhaustion to set in, along with a myriad of doubts and fears. The vampire mafia was after her, who knew what would happen to her family, and God only knew what Todd would think. But the thing that worried her the most at the moment was what she'd say if she was pulled over. Please, officer, whatever you do don't look in the trunk, because I definitely don't have a dead body in there. Yeah…that'd be _great._

She took the interstate out of town, conscientiously obeying the speed limit until she realized that since everyone else was going fifteen miles faster thenshe was probably making herself more conspicuous, not lessand sped up. The ride was uneventful even counting the five or so miles with a police cruiser that rode behind her until taking exit fifty-eight.

Tired though she was, she didn't want to risk pulling over. It was maddening; she knew nothing about her enemy- only the very little that Michel deigned to tell her. And based on past experience, even that was probably mostly lies. In a single night she'd lost everything- career, family, marriage. The first encounter could be blamed on fate, but why had she agreed to dinner? She knew better than that. Where Michel went trouble, and lots of it, soon followed. She thought briefly about abandoning the car. Despite his pleas, she had little doubt that he could get out of the trunk with little effort. She could move to some small town in Idaho or Kansas, change her name to Babs and start waiting tables, or whatever it was they did in the square states. But she drove on instead, painfully aware of the dead body in the trunk.

She had to stop for a nap after the third time she started drifting into on-coming traffic. She stopped at one of those huge gas station cum restaurant and tacky souvenir shop. She ran in first to use a bathroom of extremely questionable cleanliness and grab a pop. She almost didn't see the article in the paper by the register, absorbed **as** she was in the celeb gossip mags, but the name of company caught her eye. "Mayfield Exec Found Dead" headline proclaimed.

It'd barely made the front page, dominated by overseas disasters. Despite thetwisting of her insides, she managed to pay for the paper and her soda before making a quick getaway. She leaned on the car, sipped her Coke and read the article.

LOS ANGELES- Brent Aldercott, 53, was found dead in his LA apartment early this morning. He suffered three gunshot wounds to the chest and head. Initial investigations point to robbery. Aldercott was president of the Mayfield publishing company.

Kerry folded the paper with disgust, and brought her fist down on the trunk of the car with a loud thump; knowing the occupant was oblivious to her ire. She knew Brent. Had known. Not particularly well- a few functions, meetings, the occasional lunch. If he'd died in a car accident, she doubted she'd have felt much more than the quickly passing sadness for the family and concern for the company. But she had a feeling that this was far more than a robbery gone wrong. The fact that Michel had business with her company a scant night before Brent's death was a _helluva _coincidence. And with Michel, coincidences were usually anything but.

But she wouldn't get a chance to confirm her suspicions until after sundown. She napped in the back of the car, or at least tried to. It was cramped and her mind was in turmoil. She didn't know she'd actually fallen asleep until she woke up again mid-afternoon. She wearily got back on the highway, this time not _stopping_until a few minutes before sunset. She pulled the car on to a narrow dirt road, so it was out of direct line of sight After the last few rays of sun had disappeared from the sky, she popped the trunk.

"Hey," Michel said, sitting up and brushing his now shoulder-length hair out of his face, as if waking up in a car trunk was the most natural thing in the world.

"Was this you?" She demanded, shoving the paper in his face and tapping the offending article. He blinked at it a moment.

"Would you believe me if I said 'no'?"

"No."

"Then why, exactly, did you ask me at all?"

"I'm giving you a chance to come clean and start apologizing," Kerry ground out. Michel pushed past the paper and stood easily.

"Fine. Yes, I killed him and I am very sorry." His tone implied otherwise.

"God!" Kerry threw the paper at him, but he caught it, looking over the article again with the same sort of detached interest he might have used while reading the weather forecast. "Why must you be so…so…" A thousand adjectives came to mind. "So…gah!" "Yes, I get that complaint all the time." He rolled his eyes. "What are you mad about? That I killed him or that I neglected to tell you?"

"Pick one," she spat.

"Because I know how you love to hear about the ugly details." His voice was sharp with sarcasm.

"Are you protecting me- or yourself?" she asked with venom practiced over the last few years of her marriage.

"Pick one," he mimicked her tone perfectly.

This was anargument she couldn't hope to win. She really wanted to hit him, but that would probably go even worse. Instead, she sat awkwardly on the bumper, grinding her palms into her eyes. "Excuse me if I have a little trouble adjusting to the fact that my-" boyfriend? That sounded ridiculous and they weren't exactly lovers, "That you are a cold-blooded killer."

He turned from her, looking up at the stars just beginning to appear in the evening sky. She'd forgotten how bright they could be away from the city. His voice was quieter now. "I'm not going to change, Kerry. It's not just that I can't. I don't want to. I thought you understood-"

"What's the plan?" she asked. It was a clumsy change of subject and she wasn't sure if he'd let her do it, but after a moment he sat next to her.

"The plan, as much as there is one, is this: stay off the radar and keep moving. They have a lot of resources-"

"Who are 'they'?" she asked, tired of imagining some kind of vampire SWAT team.

"'They" is a group of North American vampires who I've rather pissed off, first by betraying our secrets to a human-"

"Me," she supplied.

He gave her an annoyed look, apparently unhappy about her interruptions. "-Yes, you. And then by killing one of my associates."

"You're like _The Godfather_."

"Not so much. Anyway. As I was saying, their resources- money, technology, information are pretty close to inexhaustible. However, personnel they lack. Humans can only be used in the most cursory of ways, which is good for us. If we can avoid leaving a discernable paper trail, stay away from big cities and other vampires, we'll wear them down. If they have to comb every town in the states they'll have to do it on foot. I doubt even they have the patience for that. Especially once our faces and stories don't appear on the front page of the _National Inquirer_, which is what they most fear right now."

Kerry shifted, trying to keep her backside from going numb. "So, then I can go back."

Michel hesitated. "Maybe."

She got the feeling he was avoiding her eyes. "How long will it take for them to give up?"

Make that definitely avoiding her eyes. "Hard to say. A few years, maybe a decade or so."

"Decades!" she yelped. She was exhausted from a _day_ of running.

He squeezed her elbow. "Cheer up. It could be worse."

"How, exactly?"

He stood, pulling her up with him. "Dunno. I thought it was just a figure of speech."

She sighed heavily. "You should have just killed me."

He laughed. "I'm beginning to agree with you." She punched his arm.

"I really don't know why I put up with you."

"Well, I am devilishly good-looking." He grinned in a way that proved his words.

She let her head rest on his shoulder for a moment. "Hm. That must be it. God knows your personality sucks."

He drove while she zonked out in the back seat. She didn't wake again until 3:30 when they checked into a Motor Lodge off the highway.

"We can rest here a day or two. Do you want something to eat?"

Kerry observed the room's less than ambient pine paneling and mustard yellow bedspread. A phlegmatic AC unit hummed in the window. After twenty-four hours on the road it looked like heaven. "Yeah, food would be good. Are you hungry?" She asked automatically and then realized what she'd said, but then it was too late to take it back.

He looked at her with one eyebrow raised, considering. "Is that an offer?"

She opened her mouth, failed to think of an answer and shut it again. She hadn't meant it to be an offer, but now wasn't sure that she didn't want it to be.

He laughed and grinned toothily at her. "It's too soon anyway. Wouldn't want you anemic on my account."

They- well, she- got dinner at a late-night diner frequented by truckers, insomniacs and what Kerry was pretty sure was a serial killer. She ordered chilicheese fries, a hamburger and pie. She kind of regretted it when the food arrived and all Michel had in front of him was coffee, but her desire for greasy food quickly overwhelmed her desire to not look like a complete pig. When she was half-way through her pie and starting to lose steam, she asked, "How long did you work for them?"

Michel shrugged, adding another sugar to his coffee. "Does it matter?"

She poked her pie; it was a little more gelatinous than she normally liked pie. "I'm just curious."

"Awhile," he conceded, glancing around, but no one was within earshot.

"Why don't you like talking about your past?"

Another shrug. "I live in the moment."

"I guess you have to." He looked at her sharply, unable to judge her tone, then nodded.

"Will you at least tell me your age?" She was working hard to keep her tone light.

He was silent for a long moment and she was sure he would refuse, but then he said, "I've lost track of the particulars, but I'm in my," he hesitated again, "Fifth century."

Kerry choked on the bite she'd just put in her mouth. "Oh," she said faintly, when her esophagus was once again clear. He could be lying, she knew, but she doubted it. "And you're French? I was right about that, wasn't I."

He nodded slightly. "Oui. I was originally French."

"Mmm. Your accent's very good."

He smiled a bit wryly. "I've had a few years to practice. Why all the questions?" He sipped his coffee and made a face.

"You know everything about me and I know almost nothing about you. That's hardly fair."

"I assure you, we're both better off that way. Besides, I don't know everything about you. I didn't know you were married."

Her grip on her fork tightened. "Oh no," she objected. "You don't get to ask about my marriage when all I get is the century of your birth. You wanna know, you gotta tell."

Michel nodded. "Alright, but how 'bout if we take this conversation back to the motel? If you're done with your pie." She'd made a pudding of it, pushing it around her plate with her fork. She nodded and Michel paid the bill, tipping more than Kerry felt the service was worth.

Back at the motel she took a shower. The NY t-shirt would have to do as sleepwear, since she literally didn't have anything else, and with her hair wrapped turban-style in a towel, she emerged. Michel was securing the window; in addition to the heavy drapes he'd hung up one of the extra blankets over the window frame. He'd taken off his shoes, but was otherwise dressed.

She sat on the edge of the bed, which creaked warningly, and toweled her hair. It would dry an absolute mess but there wasn't much she could do about that.

"So?" she said.

He turned. "So, what?"

"You were going to tell me everything there is to know about you- _Interview with the Vampire_ style."

"Right. I thought that was just if I wanted information."

"And don't you?"

"I've changed my mind."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You'd be terrible at sleepovers."

"Eventually I'll get over my crushing disappointment." Michel threw himself down on the bed next to her, a surprisingly casual gesture, and folded his hands behind his head. "What do you want to know?"

She stretched out next to him, head propped on an elbow. "Will you really answer my question?"

"Probably not."

She pinched him; he caught her hand and brought it to his mouth as if to bite it but then kissed the tips of her fingers instead. She realized she was giggling like a giddy school girl and struggled to stop.

"You're in a good mood," she observed.

"Am I? I have no right to be."

"Maybe not, but you are." She snuggled up next to him, resting her chin on his chest, noticing how it only moved when he needed to talk.

"Do you have any siblings? Did you have?" she corrected. He remained quiet for awhile, but she was content to lie there.

"I had a little sister," he said finally. "Clarisse. She died when she was twelve." His voice was very distant.

"How?" Kerry asked, mentally begging him not to say that he'd killed her.

"Scarlet fever. The whole family caught it." She smoothed a wrinkle in his shirt with her fingers; sorry now that she'd brought the subject up.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright, it was a long time ago. I barely remember." Now, that she doubted. "My turn. How long have you been married?"

She winced. Her marriage was not something she wanted to discuss with anyone, least of all Michel. "Nine years. We met in grad school."

"Love at first sight?" Michel hazarded.

"No, it took him six months to convince me to go out with him. I thought he was obnoxious."

"But he won you over."

"I guess. When I married him I figured that he was as good as it got, that I was never going to feel about anyone like I did about, well, you. No man can live up to romantically faded memories of girlish love."

"Do you love him?"

She shifted. "I think you're over your question limit. But yes. Or at least I thought I did. What is love, anyway? When you're young you think it's passion and undying devotion."

"And now?"

"I'm increasingly of the opinion it's the ability to tolerate a person for long periods of time."

He snorted. "You should work for Hallmark."

"I'll consider it. If this whole Bonnie and Clyde thing doesn't work out." The conversation lapsed, and Kerry found herself drowsing despite the scratchiness of the bedspread. Just as well, tomorrow didn't bear thinking about.


End file.
